


I Cross My Heart

by MotleyMoose



Category: Marvel, The Avengers
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, F/M, Gen, mentions of amputation, necking, slight language, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9918833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotleyMoose/pseuds/MotleyMoose
Summary: It's just another day for Y/N working with the Avengers... or is it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello! This may or may not turn into a two-parter (I usually leave ya'll hanging because I'm horrible, but this keeps building in my head). All inspiration for the prosthetic/amputation come from Goldenhand by Garth Nix and John Dies At The End by David Wong. Yeah, I know, weird, but hey, it works.
> 
> (PS Things in [ ] are signed (because Hawkeye is sorta deaf)

“Is there any way you can shut that thing off?” Wade asks as we stroll down the street just after dawn. He’s busily straightening out the broken fingers on his left hand, the last of the injuries from our latest fight against the “rogue sewer ninjas who are probably most definitely from Florida” (his words, not mine).

Shrugging, I hold out my new prosthetic hand, watching as it shimmers brightly in the dim sun. “I haven’t found the off switch yet, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of Tony yet. But I guess it’s alright. I mean, I can crush brick and melt steel with this thing. My old prosthetic couldn’t even peel an orange.”

“Huh.” He shakes his newly healed hand in satisfaction before slapping me on the shoulder. “Last one to HQ is an asshole!”

Laughing, I shout after his retreating form as I break into a sprint, “I wouldn’t want to take that title away from you!”  
………….  
It doesn’t take much for me to catch up to and pass Wade (he was never the best at pacing himself over long distances). And since I beat him back to headquarters, he has to pay for coffee. Luckily, there’s a little diner in the building across the street that makes the best chai latte in the area.

The bell overhead tinkles as we enter, and I scan the crowded diner for any of the main crew. I see Clint and Nat over in a corner booth, so while Wade is getting drinks, I make a beeline for their table.

“Hey, guys,” I grin as I slide in beside Nat and steal the pile of sliced pickles from Clint’s plate (this diner serves pickles with everything. And Clint hates pickles). “What’s up?”

“Breakfast,” Clint growls as he shovels a forkful of egg into his mouth. “What’s with the hand?”

“Trying out Tony’s new prototype,” I reply, laying my arm across the table for them to admire. “It’s damn near indestructible, and I can actually feel things with it. But, for whatever reason, it’s like a dang glow stick.” I sigh as I ball it back into my vest pocket. “I’m more than thankful that Tony made it. Especially since my old one bit the dust.”

“Bit too shiny for my taste,” Clint mumbles as he turns the prosthetic over gently in his hands. The technology is so advanced that I can actually feel the warmth of him through it.

Wade strolls over, his hands full of mugs and a pastry in his mouth, and sets a chipped yellow cup in front of me before joining Clint on the other side of the table. Nat inclines her head slightly and Clint grunts a hello around a chunk of sausage.

“You’re a cheerful lot,” he quips as he rolls up the bottom of his mask, taking a careful sip from his cup. Hissing through his teeth as he puts down his coffee, Wade jerks his head at Clint. “What’s his deal?”

“We were up all night chasing a mutant rat through the sewers,” Nat replies after she takes a long pull from her coffee cup. “He’s just grumpy that he couldn’t get a clear shot down there.”

Clint flicks a finger at Nat without looking up from his breakfast platter.

“You’re pretty brave when Y/N is around, Barton,” Nat teases. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to those pretty little hands of yours.”

Before he can make a comeback, Wade elbows Clint in the ribs and drops his hands below the table.

Staring at Wade’s lap for a bit longer than what seems comfortable, Clint guffaws. “Yeah, well. That ain’t happening anytime soon.”

Shrugging, Wade returns to sipping his coffee. “Your loss, dude. I’m telling you, it would work.”

I arch an eyebrow at the pair as Nat responds. “What? Wait, no. I don’t want to know.” She signals to the bubbly waitress, who lays the receipt facedown on the table as she glides past. “If you two blow anything up, don’t call me.” She stands and jerks her head at me. “C'mon, Y/N. We’ve got training in ten.”

Groaning, I slump into the booth. Nat gives me a piercing glare. “Alright. Fine, I’m coming,” I mumble as I take one last swallow of my latte. Rising to follow her through the bustling diner, I casually graze the back of Clint’s neck with my fingertips, enjoying the way he leans into my hand. “See ya’ll back at HQ. If Nat doesn’t kill me.”

Both men bid farewell and turn back to their food. As I grab the door, I glance quickly over my shoulder. Wade and Clint are sitting close, heads together conspiratorially. I can tell they’re signing to each other again, and I instinctively know nothing good can come of this.  
………….  
Four hours, several bruises, and some minor blood loss later, I shower and change quickly before heading into the lounge area of the complex. HQ is essentially a self-sufficient metropolis contained inside a multi-story building. Each of us on the Avenger squad gets our own little sleeping alcove that’s adjoins a huge communal area complete with kitchen, wet bar, and big screen TV. Sometimes we play board games together, and sometimes we choose solitude in the comfort of our own rooms. My little closet is nice and all, but sometimes a girl needs a change of scenery.

And Netflix.

Weighing the pros and cons of binging _Lost_ for a third time, I round the corner and run smack into Clint. It looks as though he has just went through a ringer, so Wade or Nat must have been sparring with him. Neither one of them have an “easy” button.

“Ouch.” A hand flies to his nose as blood comes spurting down his face.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, hon!” I cringe as I guide him to the nearest sofa then dash into the kitchen. I grab a dish towel and toss it to him before digging in the freezer for an ice pack. “I’m so, so sorry.” I kiss his temple as I apply the ice pack.

[“No biggie, Wade broke it first,”] he signs before taking over the ice pack. “What are you doing up here? I thought you were setting up for Coulson’s retirement party?” His voice is slightly muffled by the towel.

Waving my good hand, I sit down beside him. “Got it handled while you and Nat were galavanting in the sewers. What I want to know is how you let Wade bust your nose?”

Grinning sheepishly, Clint sinks back into the couch. “I…. may have shot him a few dozen times.” He holds up his hands when he sees my face. “It’s not like he can’t handle it! Plus, I didn’t use the incendiary heads.”

I glare at him a moment longer. “Uh huh. And why exactly did you turn my partner into a pincushion?”

“He wanted to see if he could dodge an arrow. Turns out he can’t.”

I can’t help but snort at this, cracking a smile that he reciprocates. “That definitely sounds like Wade.” Yawning widely, I stretch, leaning over him to snag the remote off the side table. I click through to our list, browsing until I narrow it down to four shows and a movie (I always take too long deciding sometimes). Clint rolls his eyes and makes a grab for the remote. “Nuh uh, buster. Driver picks the movie, remember?” I smile coyly at him. “Plus, you need to hit the showers.”

Snarling, he tosses the bloodied towel and ice pack aside and tackles me. I scream in mock horror as I try to keep the remote out of his reach. I would have succeeded, too, if Clint fought fair.

While I’m busy holding the remote over my head with my flesh hand and pushing on his chest with my stump, I leave my most vulnerable spot open. Clint notices and immediately dives for my neck, sucking and nipping lightly at the tender skin. A moan escapes my lips as I squirm beneath him, an all-too-familiar warmth spreading through my lower belly. I need him. Now. I bring my flesh hand to the nape of his neck, my stump wrapping around his back as I try desperately to get him to pay attention to my mouth.

“I don’t think so,” he growls, grabbing my arms and pulling them over my head. I gasp excitedly, bucking my hips and arching my back as I beg him to kiss me. Ignoring my pleas, he goes back to teasing my neck.

I’m all but a puddle of jelly when Wade bursts in.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account.” He gives us the finger guns as he makes his way to the wet bar.

The bastard seems to always know when we’re trying to have “adult fun time” (again, Wade’s words, not mine).

Clint releases my arms and pushes off of me, blushing. Suppressing a grin, I sit up and straighten my shirt. It’s cute when he gets embarrassed (and it doesn’t take much to do it, either).

After he makes his drink, Wade moseys over and plops down between us. Casually sipping his cocktail, he plucks the remote from my grasp and scrolls for a bit before landing on a movie.

[“ _Finding Dory_? Really?”] Clint signs at him in disbelief.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.” Wade turns the volume up, and for what seems like the millionth awkward moment today, we silently watch the journey of a little blue fish.  
…………..  
[“So, are you going to do it tonight?”] Wade signs to Clint as we enter the the bar. Clint slaps him in the chest and glares daggers at him as he takes my hand and leads the way to a group of tables near the impromptu stage (it’s really just a piece of plywood supported by a couple dozen cinder blocks, nothing fancy).

[“What was that about?”] I ask, darting my eyes pointedly at Wade.

[“Nothing, just Wade being Wade,”] Clint reassures as we approach the small group already celebrating with pitchers of beer and whimsically named shots.

“Y/N/N! How’s the hand treating you?” Tony shouts jovially over the jukebox as he slaps Clint on the shoulder and gestures with his drink to the table. “Come! Sit! Coulson’s not here yet, so we’re testing the booze to make sure it’s okay.”

Thor, Nat, and Steve raise their glasses in greeting, then turn back to the conversation they were having. Tony stands stock still for a moment, a goofy grin plastered on his face, before ushering us towards the other side of the table, kicking balloons out of the way as he goes. Grabbing two glasses from the stack, he fills them to the brim with beer and passes one to each of us. He then pulls out a chair and sits, motioning for us to join him. “Seriously, how’s the prosthetic? Is there anything I need to modify on it before we enter production?”

Glancing sideways at Clint, I smile charmingly at Tony and hold it up, wiggling the fingers. “It’s perfect, Tony, really. Except, maybe it should’t… I don’t know…. have a golden aura?” I offer it to him, palm up.

Taking it in his hand, Tony squints at it before looking at me. “You’re absolutely right! Hard to fight the bad guys if your new hand gives you away. If I’m not dead from a hangover I certainly will have tomorrow, stop in and we’ll get it fixed.” He lets go, taking another pull from his beer.

I smile again, turning to Clint. [“See?”] I sign in triumph. [“He’ll shut it off in the morning!”]

Clint rolls his eyes, and then chokes on his beer. I follow his gaze to the makeshift stage and spot Wade conferring with the DJ.

Tapping Clint on the shoulder, I mouth, “What?”

Shaking his head furiously, Clint rises, wending his way to the stage. Seeing him, Wade squats in front of him, and the two begin to have a heated discussion. I only catch a few of the signs Wade is throwing at Clint, and it leaves me even more confused.

After a few minutes, Clint turns on his heel and stalks back to our table. Seeing my questioning look, he signs that Wade is an ass.

[“And that’s new how?”] I shoot back with a wide grin. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes once more and turns back to the stage.

Someone has placed a stool in the middle of the stage, a lone microphone laying on its seat. Wade strolls over, picks of the mic, and poises himself on the stool. There’s a wolf whistle from the crowd as he speaks into the mic.

“Goooood evening, drunks and brigands!” he shouts, and the crowd responds enthusiastically.

“We’ve got a special treat for you tonight… Me! So without further ado, I’d like to dedicate this little number to my two besties right over there!” He points in our direction, and the crowd whoops accordingly.

“Hit it, Stan.”

When the music starts, my grin begins to fade. And then, Wade begins to sing.

_Our love is unconditional  
We knew it from the start  
I can see it in your eyes  
You can feel it from my heart_

That’s our song.

That’s the song we first kissed to. The song we first made love to. It was also from the first movie we watched together before we became a couple.

_From here on after  
Let’s stay the way we are right now  
And share all the love and laughter  
That a lifetime will allow._

I look to Clint for help, a question upon my lips, but I stop cold.

_I cross my heart  
And promise to  
Give all I’ve got to give  
To make all your dreams come true  
In all the world  
You’ll never find  
A love as true as mine_

He’s kneeling beside me, a small box in his hand.

“Clint, what…?”

Opening the box, he reveals a plain silver band. My eyes widen in disbelief as my eyes dart from him to the ring, my heart fluttering in my throat. He quirks an eyebrow. [“Want to make this thing official?”]

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: I Cross My Heart by George Strait; amputation


End file.
